19. Vogue

"Are you ready for this meeting?"Aaron asks as Adam drives us into the city.

"As I'll ever be. I don't really know what to expect."

"If it goes according to plan, a massacre."

"Are you joking?"

"No."

"How is that going according to plan? Isn't the plan to have everyone claim they're loyal, and we move on?"

"No."

"You're going to have to do better than that," I growl.

He glares at me from beside me on the back seat of the big, black SUV that Adam has decided he's driving Miss Daisy for reasons known only to him.

"I said I was cleaning house. This is a big organisation. It takes time to weed out the rats."

I shake my head, trying to hide the shiver that runs down my spine. This isn't just some corporate restructuring. This is life and death, and we're right in the thick of it.

Adam pulls up in front of the sleek glass building where Bigsy tried to shoot my head off my shoulders, and I shudder. We pile out of the SUV and enter, Dad leading the way to his office.

It looks similar to the last time I saw it, with the very big exception of no dead man on the floor.

"Remember, Vogue. Your place today is silent and observing."

"Got it." I nod, my mind whirling.

Men in suits file in. Their faces are hard as granite, their eyes calculating every move we make. Aaron takes his place behind his desk, and I stand at his right-hand side, silent and observing as instructed.

Aaron starts to speak, laying out his vision for the future of The Crowned Syndicate—a future where loyalty is rewarded, and betrayal is met with death. A painful, twisted death that has everyone sweating and on edge. Adam is watching everyone with hawk eyes, and I'm trying to do the same. I feel like a fucking statue, standing here with my insides churning as Aaron spells out the consequences of betrayal. His voice is steady like he's reading off a grocery list and not outlining a policy of bloodshed. Some of these guys look like they could snap me in half without breaking a sweat, but none of them hold a candle to the chill in my dad's voice.

There's a tension in the room that you could cut with a knife. Everyone's trying to look unfazed, but it's clear as day that they're all questioning their chances of walking out of here alive. My eyes flit across each face, searching for any sign of weakness or deceit.

"It's simple," Aaron continues, his tone cold enough to freeze hell over. "You're either with us, or you're a dead man walking. And let me tell you, I've got no use for corpses."

A murmur ripples through the crowd as some of the men shift uncomfortably in their seats. One dude, in particular, can't seem to sit still. I catch Adam's eye from where he's stationed with a view of the room. He nods imperceptibly. He's noticed him, too.

The guy's practically shitting himself.

The meeting drags on like some sick version of corporate bingo – but instead of numbers being called out, it's ultimatums and warnings. Dad doesn't miss a beat; he drives home every point with the precision of a fucking surgeon.

Finally, the meeting adjourns, and the suits begin to filter out with less swagger than when they came in. The twitchy guy makes a beeline for the exit. Fucking rat doesn't even have the grace to disguise his panic. I almost feel sorry for the bastard. Almost.

"Clifton," Aaron calls out.

The guy freezes for a second before he tries to make a bolt for it. Adam is there in two giant strides, snatching him by the collar and halting his progress.

"Not so fast," Aaron says coldly.

Clifton's face goes a sickly shade of grey as Adam drags him back like he weighs nothing. The men who hadn't made it to the door stop, knowing not to even breathe in case they're next.

I gulp as Aaron doesn't even stand. He just looks up at Clifton with the kind of disappointment that you expected better but should've known it would come to this.

"You know what happens next," Aaron says, voice flat.

Clifton starts blubbering then, spouting excuses and pleas that blend into each other until it's just noise. His knees buckle, but Adam holds him up, a smirk playing on his lips. He enjoys this shit way too much.

Aaron reaches under his desk and pulls out a handgun. He raises it and fires, the shot landing right between Clifton's eyes.

Fuck.

But I'm not in shock. All I can think about is what a great shot my dad is. I cringe at the horror of the complacency of my attitude as Clifton slumps in Adam's fist.

Adam drops Clifton's lifeless body like yesterday's garbage. The message is clear: disloyalty is a death sentence.

I glance at the remaining men. Some are pale, others have a grim set to their jaws. They know better than to show fear, at least not openly. Fear is a weakness—sharks can smell it a mile away.

Dad places the gun back under his desk with the same nonchalance as someone stashing away a pen after signing a check. "Clean this up," he commands, his gaze never leaving the corpse.

Adam nods and gestures to two men by the door who reluctantly step forward to take care of the dead body. The message sent today isn't just for those within these walls, it's for everyone who thought they could fuck with Aaron McGowan and live to tell the tale.

"We're done here," Dad announces. "Remember, your loyalty or your life."

As the room empties out, and I'm left standing there with him, I feel a strange mix of pride and disgust. Pride because I stood there like a soldier in battle who didn't flinch at the sight of blood, and disgust because I'm starting to understand these monsters around me, and act like them.

"You did good, Vogue," Aaron murmurs, his eyes finally meeting mine.

"Thanks," I say, but there's no warmth in my voice.

The smell of blood and death lingers, but I push it to the back of my mind. There's no place for weakness in this world, and if I'm going to survive—thrive even—I need to be as hard as the rest of them.